Warlords

by William H. Weber

  “I know that, John,” she shot back, clearly annoyed. “The food we’re getting ready to grow here is for everyone.”

  This conversation was heading in the wrong direction. His eyes fell to the necklace hanging outside of her shirt. It was the wedding anniversary gift he’d fished out of the cabin fire. “I see you haven’t thrown that old thing away yet.”

  “This?” she said, touching it with the tips of her fingers. “You keep misbehaving and I may just do that.”

  He pulled her close and kissed her lips. They were cold in the early morning air. “Have faith, honey, because right now, we don’t have much else.”

  “I’m trying, John,” she replied, holding on tight.

  “Tell me how everything went at the pot farm.”

  “Better than expected. Half of the plants were still viable and we found quite a bit of this tubing.”

  “I left a small cache of weapons out there by the old hut when I discovered the place,” he told her. “Just a few shotguns and rifles, nothing fancy. But I wanted you to know in case your team runs into trouble out there.”

  “While you were at it, you should have buried those dead bodies. We could smell them coming up the pathway. Two of my girls lost their breakfast.”

  The visual might have made John smirk if he hadn’t been thinking that the loss of a meal these days wasn’t a laughing matter. “I guess I had to make a decision.”

  “Oh, I forgot to tell you,” Diane said, a thread of annoyance creeping into her voice. “Moss came to see me yesterday.”

  “Really? What for?” he asked.

  “He wanted our fertilizer. The stuff we salvaged from the Ace Home Center on Industrial Lane.”

  “I thought that place had pretty much been emptied?”

  “It had, except for some of the outdoor stuff.”

  “But why would Moss need fertilizer? Doesn’t he know you need it to grow the crops?”

  Diane sighed. “He told me he needed it to build IEDs.”

  “All right,” John replied. “Let me handle it.”

  John was getting ready to walk away when Diane said: “How’d it go with Dan Niles?”

  “Fine, I guess. I didn’t want him to think the cholera outbreak was his fault. Even if there is a leak, people need to remember to boil the water they drink.” John was sounding annoyed himself and tried to rein it in. “It doesn’t take long before people start relaxing on the safety measures and thinking we’re back to business as usual. It’s making me think that if we ever do get these lights back on, our next headache might be monitoring usage.”

  He hadn’t told Diane that Dr. Coffey had brought up the possibility of a saboteur in their midst. First he would allow Dan to run his own investigation and if that didn’t turn up a likely cause for the contamination, then he would talk to Moss about taking measures, although what those would be, John didn’t know.

  Of course, there was still a giant elephant in the room—the intel John had gathered from his conversation with their Chinese POW, Huan. Diane had clearly noticed the way he’d been biting his lower lip, a habit he’d had since high school whenever he had too much on his mind.

  “When do you plan on telling everyone?” she asked, not wanting to spell out in detail that she was referring to the concentration camps.

  “I wasn’t sure if I should.”

  “Really, John?”

  “What good’s it gonna do besides get everyone wound up over something they can’t do anything about?”

  “I agree, but keeping secrets for other people’s sake is a slippery slope, don’t you think? When they finally do find out, the impact will feel like a nuclear bomb blast.”

  John grew quiet. That last thing she said reminded him of something he needed to do. He turned then to walk away.

  “You’re not upset, are you?” she said as he left.

  He stopped. “Of course not, honey. It just occurred to me I need to talk with a man about a bomb.”

  Chapter 32

  John found Jerry Fowler over behind the Mayor’s office, tossing wild grass to a cranky-sounding gander.

  “I see you’ve met George.”

  “That his name?” Jerry replied. “I have to admit, I wasn’t George’s biggest fan when he and I first met. Nearly took my finger off as I tried to pet him.”

  John let out a burst of laughter. “You wouldn’t be the first. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve been tempted to turn him into a nice stew and been begged to stop.”

  “I’d say your first mistake was to give him a name,” Jerry said, reaching into his pocket for more grass. George poked his beak through the wire mesh, clearly eager for more.

  “Trust me,” John told him in no uncertain terms, “that wasn’t my doing.”

  “Ah, yes. Kids,” Jerry said knowingly. “The friends of farm animals across the country.”

  The comment brought a rush of raw emotion to the surface that John hadn’t anticipated and he struggled to keep his composure. For a moment he imagined Reese with the boys on the trail back to Oneida, giving them a good talking to. “I trust you’re settling in all right?”

  Jerry nodded. “There’s no one back in Oak Ridge waiting for me, if that’s what you mean.”

  “My main concern was whether you needed anything.”

  “At some point, I’d like to take a trip back to my house for a few sentimental items.”

  “That can be arranged,” John replied. “Perhaps even sooner than you think.”

  Jerry tossed a clump of grass to George and glanced over at John, unsure. “Something about that sounded rather cloak-and-dagger.”

  “Maybe I should come clean then,” John admitted. “I’ve been thinking some about our conversation on the way back from Oak Ridge. You mentioned the Y-12 facility there dismantled outdated atomic weapons.”

  The look on Jerry’s face made it clear he wasn’t crazy about where this conversation was headed. “I did say that, but I also told you I had very little to do with that side of things. I was in charge of charting and monitoring weather patterns.”

  “That part I got. But do you think any of the material there could be used to make a bomb? One that works is what I mean.”

  Jerry rubbed his thick fingers through his beard as though he were scratching for fleas. “Gosh, I don’t know. I suppose so. They’re sent there to be dismantled, after all. Although I couldn’t say whether any of the old weapons were still there.”

  “Yeah,” John said. “I’ve been thinking about that, and it seemed to me that if the military was having trouble finding vehicles to move troops and equipment to the front, would they really use those resources to haul away outdated bombs?”

  “Hard to say,” Jerry admitted. “You do raise a good point, but if those were the only nuclear weapons they had left, they might.”

  John nodded. “Well, I suppose it’s worth having a conversation with some of my contacts at the front.”

  “So you wanna put together some kind of missile and lob it onto Beijing, is that it?”

  The sound of it made John smile. “No, I was thinking of finding a way to lure as many enemy troops as possible into a major U.S. city and dropping it on them there.”

  Jerry shook his head. “Oh, goodness. That’s insane.”

  “I know,” John admitted. “I’m not pretending to have worked out all the details and ramifications, but taking out a million enemy troops might just turn the tide.”

  “It might, but it might also kill lots of innocent Americans.”

  “No doubt,” John replied, thinking of the millions probably already in concentration camps waiting to die if they continued to stand by and do nothing. “Maybe part of me expected that most of the folks in cities had either fled to the country or died. It’s crazy, I know, but do you think it’s possible?”

  “To have any real effect, I think you’d need a handful of bombs. Besides, I’m sure the army’s already sent off our nukes the minute they learned who was behind this.”
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br />   John shook his head. “It doesn’t seem that way. Shortly after the EMP, we were also hit with nuclear attacks which wiped out our silos.”

  “There goes mutually assured destruction.”

  “Exactly. Listen, you know that place better than anyone in Oneida. If we go back in, will you help us?”

  Jerry didn’t answer for a moment. Then: “Have you ever heard of Don Quixote, John?”

  “The knight in the Spanish novel by Miguel de Cervantes?”

  “Yeah, the guy who used to charge windmills thinking they were giants.”

  “You think this is a fool’s errand?” John said, feeling defeated.

  “It is right now. Finding the warheads is one thing, but it isn’t like lighting a stick of dynamite. You need to find someone who knows how to program it and then some kind of vehicle to deliver it.”

  “What about a plane?” John asked. “If we do find someone with expertise, maybe we could load it onto a Cessna and fly it over a concentration of enemy forces. There’s the Scott Municipal airport southwest of Oneida.”

  “But you’re talking about a kamikaze run, John.”

  “Certainly sounds that way, doesn’t it?”

  “And who are you proposing will fly this Cessna?”

  “I will,” John replied.

  Chapter 33

  John was about to head to the comms room to see if Henry had received any news from the front when Devon and three other men approached him on horseback. They were about to begin a patrol around the perimeter of town.

  The military fatigue-style baseball cap covering Devon’s head did nothing to suppress his wild brown curls underneath. “Sir,” he said, pulling his chestnut mare to a stop. “Moss asked me to keep an eye out for you. Says he needs to have a word.”

  Sometimes John felt like he was being pulled in a million different directions at once. “Sure thing, Devon. Where is he?”

  “Last I saw, he was over by the high school, having some heated words with your wife.”

  “All right, thanks for the heads up.”

  John waved them on and headed toward what he could only imagine was about to become a full-blown shouting match.

  When he arrived, a crowd had gathered in a circle around two figures. Even from a distance John could hear two distinct voices and he knew right away who they belonged to.

  As he reached the throng it became clear that Moss’ men had come in to take the fertilizer and Diane’s workers had stepped in to stop them.

  Pushing through the crowd, John was intent on putting a stop to this immediately. Not only was it unprofessional to have his wife openly arguing with his head of security, but it was also unproductive. This greenhouse needed to get built and start functioning as soon as possible.

  “Listen,” John shouted through cupped hands. “I want all of you back to work right away.”

  Slowly, reluctantly, the crowd broke apart and split in two groups. One headed back to the greenhouse while Moss’ people returned to filling sandbags and putting out barbed wire.

  Between Diane and Moss was a stack of fertilizer bags, many torn, the precious fertilizer spilled on the grass.

  John led both of them to the high-school gymnasium, which was being outfitted with beds and cots taken from homes no longer being occupied. If war, disease or some other unforeseen crisis gripped the community, Oneida needed a place to care for them.

  Diane and Moss stood before him, refusing to look at one another.

  “Frankly, I’m ashamed and embarrassed,” John said to both of them.

  Moss shook his head. “I’m sorry, boss, but I was just following orders.”

  “Whose orders?”

  “Yours.”

  Surprise registered on John’s face. “I never told you to grab the fertilizer.”

  “No, but you did tell me to plant IEDs along the major choke points leading into town.”

  “Which is why I sent you to the Birch coal mine to grab some dynamite.”

  “Well, there wasn’t much there,” Moss replied.

  Diane stood by without saying a word, perhaps intent on letting Moss dig his own hole.

  “So I mentioned in passing to Diane that I was going to use some of the fertilizer I found at the Ace Hardware store and when I showed up, it was gone.”

  “By the time we got there,” Diane said, “I thought you’d taken what you needed.”

  Moss’ hands flew in the air. “Heck, I didn’t get a chance. You swooped in so fast.”

  “Easy now,” John warned them both.

  For a moment, neither said anything.

  “I thought we could work this out on our own,” Diane said.

  Moss motioned to Diane. “When I saw her people had taken every last bag, well, I sorta felt like they’d gone behind my back and stolen it.”

  “First off,” John said, “something can’t be stolen if it doesn’t belong to you in the first place. Whatever’s in Oneida is a town resource. If one of our citizens is hoarding food or weapons, that hurts all of us. This isn’t every man for himself anymore.”

  Moss looked away.

  “And that goes for you as well, Diane.”

  “If there was enough to share,” his wife said, “I would have been happy to. I also think we need to set our priorities straight, John. What’s more important right now, making sure we have food to last us through the winter or planting bombs?”

  Diane had a good point about the importance of food production. What she wasn’t taking into consideration was that food was useless if there wasn’t anyone alive to eat it. “The ammonium nitrate required to make explosives,” he told her, “requires a purity of at least ninety-four percent. There are plenty of organic substitutes you can use for fertilizer in the meantime—dung, compost, low-grade plant food.”

  Diane crossed her arms. She thought John was taking Moss’ side.

  The truth was, this wasn’t an issue of mixed priorities or taking sides as much as it was about two leaders of the community behaving badly. “Given the threats we’re facing,” John said. “I think Moss’ entitled to as much of it as he needs. You can use whatever’s left over. More importantly, I don’t want lines drawn in the sand with one department fighting against another. We all have a common enemy and we need to remain united.”

  With some reluctance, Moss and Diane agreed and sealed the compromise with a handshake.

  “I need to get back to work,” his wife said, a touch of tension still in her voice.

  Moss was about to leave as well when John asked him to stay. “Devon mentioned you wanted to see me,” John said. “Was it about the fertilizer?”

  Moss shook his head. “No, sir. I wanted to let you know that the defensive perimeter around Oneida is basically in place. I’ve positioned men with Winchester scoped rifles on the buildings with the best fields of fire. The sandbags and gabions are set up. Foxholes have been dug with lines of sight over the major bridges leading toward town. As you instructed, the outer ring starts about two miles out with a second defensive ring a mile inside of it. The bridges have also been rigged to blow. As of now I have IEDs planted on the opposite sides, but it’d also be nice to have a few between each strong point.”

  John nodded. “Good work. I’m sure when Diane hands over the fertilizer you asked for, you’ll have what you need. Also see to it that a team with a radio is positioned on Owens Ridge since it overlooks the town and the three major approaches.” John swallowed, wondering if he was missing anything. “How we doing on manpower?”

  “I could also use more,” Moss admitted. “Won’t lie about that. Especially given that if the enemy breaks through each of our strong points, we’ll be left fighting them house to house.”

  “Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that,” John said, knowing perfectly well they lacked any real anti-armor capability. If Chinese and Russian tanks made it through the outer defenses, they would be powerless to stop them.

  Chapter 34

  As morning wore on into afternoon,
John’s thoughts returned time and time again to his interrogation with Huan and the news she had revealed about the concentration camps. His first inclination had been to keep the information a secret, since it might destabilize the delicate balance in the community he’d striven so hard to achieve. Blowouts like the one he’d seen between Diane and Moss were a rare blip in an otherwise harmonious community. John’s mother had always said that ‘idle hands were the devil’s workshop’ and with all the major projects going on around Oneida, it wasn’t a surprise that at the end of the day, people didn’t have the energy for bickering.

  So in a rare move, John had asked the heads of each department to gather the citizens of Oneida before the mayor’s office. The speech John had prepared wouldn’t be long, but the impact would surely reverberate throughout the coming days and weeks.

  His wish was that far from pushing them apart, news of the atrocities being committed against fellow Americans would draw them closer together. Perhaps even infuse them with renewed purpose.

  Before long, more than two thousands souls stood before him. The mayor’s office was a single story, and so John had climbed up onto the roof to address them.

  “I don’t want anyone to get the wrong impression with the perch I’m speaking to you from,” he began.

  The crowd chuckled in response.

  “Everyone here is an important member of the community. This isn’t like the old days where a few were able to enjoy wealth and privilege while everyone else worked their fingers to the bone. So if I speak to you now from the top of the mayor’s office, it’s only because we haven’t found a way to recharge the bullhorn yet.”

  Behind John stood each of the department heads and by his side was Vice Mayor Ray Gruber, wearing his nice-guy smile the way some people wore a beloved shirt.

  “God willing,” John continued, “the windmills Ray and the small team of handymen and engineers are working on will be up and running within the next twenty-four hours.”

  A huge eruption of applause.

  “Don’t kid yourselves, this will mark a terrific achievement. We’ve been in touch with communities all over the non-occupied zone and many of them are struggling to even imagine what we’ve been able to achieve. When we bring the power back on in Oneida, it’s likely to be the first on the continent. Hopefully, the first of many,” he added.